| The Shins | |
| Miscellaneous | |
| Phantom Limb | |
| Foals in Winter coats, | |
| White girls of the North, | |
| File past one, five and one, | |
| They are the fabled lambs, | |
| of Sunday ham, | |
| The EHS norm. | |
| And they can float above the class, | |
| In circles if they tried, | |
| A latent power I know they hide, | |
| To keep some hope alive, | |
| That a girl like I could ever try, | |
| Could ever try. | |
| So we just skirt the hallway signs, | |
| A phantom and then A fly, | |
| And Follow the lines and wonder why | |
| There's no connection. | |
| A week of rolling eyes, | |
| amd cheap shots from the tribe, | |
| And we're off to Nemarotca's porch again, | |
| Another afternoon with the goat-head tunes, | |
| And pilfered booze. | |
| We wandered through her mama's house, | |
| And the milk from the window lights, | |
| Family portrait circa ninety-five, | |
| This is that foreign land, | |
| With the sprayed on tans, | |
| And it all feels fine, | |
| Be it silk or slime, | |
| So, when they tap our Monday heads, | |
| Two zombies walk in our stead, | |
| This town seems hardly worth our time, | |
| And we'll no longer memorize or rhyme, | |
| Too far along in our crime, | |
| Stepping over what now towers to the sky, | |
| With no connection. | |
| oooh woah oh woah oh Repeated 4x's(chorus) | |
| So, when they tap our Sunday heads, | |
| Two zombies walk in our stead, | |
| This town seems hardly worth our time, | |
| And we'll no longer memorize or rhyme, | |
| Too far along in our crime, | |
| Stepping over what now towers to the sky, | |
| With no connection. | |
| oooh woah oh woah oh(chorus repeated till fade out) |
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